


Blue and Gold

by thepoltergoose1



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Odyssey, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Additional Warnings to Be Added, Alexios is Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Angst, Demigods, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff to come, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Time Travel, clarke is jealous of percy for obvious reasons, clarke is turning 20, eitan is gay so he fucked nike's male form, f/f - Freeform, im mostly writing this for me bc im a slut for clarke/kassandra, jealous sibling, later there will be more violence, m!Nike, m/m - Freeform, swords n shit, technically kassandra is 28, this more or less follows the book not the game, updates may be slow, yes nicole and clarke both have two dads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepoltergoose1/pseuds/thepoltergoose1
Summary: Clarke Anastas is having the worst time of her life. She's been rejected from college, she's working a dead-end job, she's pretty sure her godly father hates her, and honestly she's just not happy with where she's at; however, when Clarke meets Kassandra- a strange woman with a strange flower order- she doesn't suspect the woman to put her life in danger, let alone cause Clarke to be thrown backwards in time. Now, Clarke has to struggle through Ancient Greece with a certain misthios and deal with the fact that she may never see her family or her own time again.





	1. Face Down

**Author's Note:**

> Nicole Anastas and Shaun Massey belong to tumblr user (and my good friend) jrsydevl. Her username on here is the8thevilex.

_The sand beneath Clarke’s bare feet is coarse. She doesn’t know where her shoes have gone, and frankly she doesn’t care- she’s got bigger problems to deal with. Clarke is being forced backwards, cornered between a group of creatures and the ocean itself. She can already feel the cool sea water brushing against her calves as she continues to back away, her heart pounding in her chest and her breath slightly labored from running. Had she been running? She can’t remember, everything is fuzzy. Clarke takes a hesitant glance to the waves behind her, which are beginning to lash at the sand angrily- though, for once, it’s not in response to Clarke’s fear. One wave catches Clarke off guard and she stumbles, but she catches herself. The monsters cornering Clarke, dark figures obscured by shadows and the moonless night sky, seem to laugh. The noise is distorted and guttural, almost animalistic, but it’s threatening nonetheless as ichor drips and spills from their sniggering maws._

_Clarke tries to summon the water to fight for her as the monsters close in, the putrid smell of fear permeating the air as they grow closer and closer, but it doesn’t listen to her. The waves do not crash into the monsters like Clarke wants it to, nor does it provide any comfort for her fear- or any hope of escape. The biggest monster, whose eyes glow like burning embers, leaps at Clarke. Clarke throws her hands up in defense, and suddenly she’s holding her father’s ornate- and supposedly lost- trident. The monster is about to sink its teeth into the handle when suddenly a wave, one that towers hundreds of feet above Clarke and her attackers, rushes toward her. The water sprays against Clarke’s back and hair as it suddenly sucks her in, ripping the trident from her hands, and drags her into a dark abyss. Clarke tries to scream, or at least breathe, but water fills her lungs and begins to choke her. She claws ferociously at her throat, almost drawing blood, but suddenly she is rushing upwards toward the surface as her father’s trident connects with her palms once more. Clarke barely has any time to deflect the sword being swung at her, but she is able to parry it. Her attacker is a strangely dressed man who looks like he’s jumped straight out of a history book. He’s clearly Greek, but he appears to be Ancient Greek, like Clarke’s father. He lifts his sword to strike again, but Clarke catches the sword’s blade between the forks of her trident and twists, wrenching the sword from the strange man’s hands. He glares at Clarke, an enraged cry leaving his lips as he lifts his foot and kicks Clarke right in her chest. Clarke stumbles back and hits the rocky ground as the strange man grabs her trident and prepares to drive the prongs right through Clarke’s heart. Clarke braces for the killing blow, unable to catch her breath to do anything, but an arrow strikes the man’s hand._

_The man cries out and stumbles back, dropping the trident, a hand grabs him by the back of his armor and pulls. The hand drags him away from Clarke, who rolls to her feet and fumbles to grab her weapon. She draws it just as the shadowy form of a woman comes to stand before Clarke. Clarke’s heart is still racing with fear as the shadowed woman slowly extends an open hand to Clarke, who hesitantly reaches for the shadowed palm. Just as Clarke’s fingers brush against the calloused skin of the woman before her the world begins to shake and crumble. Clarke violently pulls her hand from the woman’s in fear as the ground splits open and light begins to seep in through the cracks. A booming noise begins to wrack Clarke’s ears. She quickly covers her ears and squeezes her eyes shut and-_

* * *

Clarke jolted awake, gasping for breath. Her hand flew to her chest, clutching her heart, as her head snapped toward her phone. The device was charging atop her bedside table, but at the moment it was also ringing. Clarke groaned, slowly catching her breath, as she reached over and plucked her phone from its charger. The caller ID listed the current caller as Clarke’s mortal parent, Eitan Anastas, as she brought the phone to her ear. 

“Hello?” Clarke half groaned, half yawned as she answered her father’s call. Eitan didn’t call often, but when he did it was usually to check in on his youngest daughter. 

“Clarke!” Eitan’s deep, jubilant voice greeted from the other end. “My girl! It’s been so long, how are you?!” Clarke winced at her father’s booming voice, touching her fingers to her temple as she sat up and exhaled slowly through her nose. 

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed slowly, “it’s… been a while. How’s Nicole?”

“You know, you should really call your sister more.” Eitan half-chided, mostly because Clarke probably spoke to Nicole more often than Eitan did. 

“Um, yeah…. I definitely will.” Clarke muttered as she got to her feet and glanced at her alarm clock. Instantly, her heart dropped- because according to her clock, Clarke was fifteen minutes late to work. “Hey, look dad- I gotta go, this isn’t a good time-”

“You always say that!” Eitan actually sounded hurt. “Clarke, this is the third time you’ve brushed me off this month.” And it wasn’t exactly a lie, Clarke had been avoiding her father; but in her defense, Clarke was having a shitty time and didn’t particularly want her goofy dad’s jokes and puns to cheer her up.

“Please, dad,” Clarke insisted, “I’m running late and I really have to go!” 

“Fine, fine!” Eitan sighed. “But your sister and I are coming to visit for your birthday in a few days, so please… don’t stand us up. I love you, Clarke.” Clarke hesitated at first, but then she shook her head and hit the ‘hang up’ button. She wasn’t feeling too lovey, and she didn’t feel like telling her father she loved him- even though she did. Clarke tossed her phone onto her bed as she scrambled for her work clothes- a simple black polo with Mochas and Marigolds emblazoned on the breast and a pair of black dress pants- and her socks. Clarke had a slight tussle putting on her shirt and socks at the same time- of course, after she put on her pants- but she managed to pull through and soon she was half sprinting, half hobbling down her apartment building’s stairs as she wrestled to put on her Vans.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Clarke muttered as she pushed open the door and began to run down the road. Clarke’s foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt and threw her into some tall, gorgeous, cinnamon-smelling stranger. 

“ _Syngnómi_ ,” The stranger murmured, the Greek word rolling off her tongue effortlessly. 

“ _Eínai entáxei!_ ” Clarke replied, without really thinking of it, as she shoved herself away from the strange woman and in the direction of the coffee-slash-flower shop she’d been working at for the past two months named- just as Clarke’s shirt said- Mochas and Marigolds, which was only a block or three away. Clarke cleared a short brick wall and cut through the alleyway that curved behind all the mainstreet stores, which luckily included Clarke’s workplace. The brick of the wall scraped against Clarke’s bare palms, drawing blood, but the demigod didn’t notice- nor did she particularly care. Clarke passed three or four shops before she found the back entrance to Daisy’s store, which was luckily unlocked. The bell above the door rang as Clarke pushed her way in, short of breath, and ran toward Daisy. 

“I am so, so sorry!” Clarke exhaled as she stopped just in front of the older demigod and keeled over, her scraped hands on her knees as Clarke tried to catch her breath. “I’m not sure what happened, my alarm must not’ve gone off, or-”

“It’s fine,” Daisy sighed, “we haven’t been busy, anyway. But please, Clarke, at least try to be on time… I can’t run a business if my employees don’t show up, and I can’t man this store by myself.”

“I know, I know,” Clarke’s cheeks tinted red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I promise, I’m not late on purpose.”

“Whatever, Clarke. Please, just go work the flower station okay?” 

Clarke hung her head, defeated, and offered a nod. “Of course, Daisy.” She muttered as she headed toward the other side of the store, the part where they kept all the flower deliveries and whatnot. Clarke pulled her name tag from the nametag cubby just underneath the flower counter and, as she did that, she grabbed the store apron and clipped her tag to the front. As soon as Clarke clipped the tag to the apron she tied it around her waist and clocked in, glowering slightly at the register as she did so. Clarke felt like an idiot for being late even though the situation was totally out of her hands. Clarke only grumbled and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, totally unaware of the taller woman approaching her. 

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” The familiar, cheeky voice asked as Clarke turned to water the plants. 

“Didn’t realize you were back in town.” Clarke replied, her voice slightly lowered, without looking at her sister. Clarke had no doubt in her mind that Nicole was grinning ear to ear, as her older sibling often was, as she approached Clarke. “Is dad’s team playing here, or are you here to tell me how stupid the gods are?”

“Sister,” Nicole sighed dramatically, “You wound me. Am I not allowed to see my favorite baby sister?”

“I’m your only baby sister.” Clarke said pointedly as she set the watering can on the counter.

“Not technically-”

“I’m the only one you bother talking to.” Clarke muttered. “Don’t act like you care about the others, Nikki, because I know you don’t.” Nicole went to speak, but she closed her mouth and shook her head instead. 

“Okay, okay. I didn’t come here to argue, Clarke.” Nicole’s eyes softened as Clarke slowly turned around. The younger Anastas sibling folded her arms over her chest and looked up at her sister. Nicole’s hair- a dirty, almost brunette color the same as Clarke’s- was tangled in dreads, though she’d neatly pulled them into a bun. She was wearing a t-shirt that reflected their father’s basketball team and held his name and number on the back, as well as a pair of jeans. “I came to see how you were doing. I know you didn’t make it into-”

“I don’t want to talk about college, Nicole.” Clarke muttered as she turned her back on Nicole again, shaking her head. “I don’t care about that anymore.”

“I think you do. It’s either college, or you go back to working at Half-Blood. You can’t stay here forever.” Nicole folded her own arms over her chest this time. “Is that what you want, Clarke? To run errands for the gods all the time? You know they just use us.”

“I’m not going back to camp.” Clarke snapped. “Can you just lay off with the god stuff? I know you’re pissy about them, but I don’t like talking about them with you all the time, especially since Nike checks up on you and yet-”

“Clarke.” Nicole eased, although the air between them was becoming a little tense. “It’s okay. We won’t talk about the gods. I promise.” Clarke allowed herself to relax a little, though she wasn’t completely at ease yet. 

“How’s Shaun?” Clarke asked, immediately taking on a business-esque tone. 

“Shaun is fine, but I didn’t come to talk about her either.”

“Then what did you come here for?” Clarke asked dryly as she began to arrange the flowers in front of her, her back still turned to her older sister. 

“I came to talk about you.” Nicole chuckled slightly. “You know… maybe to see if you’d like to move up to New York City? Stay with Shaun and I?” 

“And live in your stank ass weed apartment? No thanks.” Clarke snapped, sounding much harsher than she meant her words to be. “I’m very content here in Long Island, thank you.”

“I don’t smoke in the house.” Nicole answered, this time obviously hurt by Clarke’s words. “You do know that two of my housemates are recovering addicts, right?” Clarke shrugged, it didn’t matter to her much anyways- not that she didn’t care, because she did; but rather because Clarke knew she’d never be able to leave Long Island, which had been more of a home to her than any other place in her life. Clarke opened her mouth to say something in return to her sister, but was cut off when the shop’s front door was opened. The little bell at the top of the door rang to alert the employees- which, at the moment, was just Clarke and Daisy- to a new customer. Clarke peered over Nicole’s shoulder to peek at the customer, and was slightly surprised to see the woman she’d ran into earlier… only now Clarke was getting a better look at her.  
The woman was around six feet tall, give or take an inch or two, with piercing gold-brown eyes. She was wearing an expensive and well-tailored suit with her dark brown hair braided neatly and slung over her shoulder. She couldn’t of been older than twenty-eight. Her tanned, calloused fingers delicately caressed a rose petal as she walked in the door and headed for Clarke’s counter. 

“Excuse me,” The woman’s heavily accented voice was surprisingly gentle for someone of her stature, “are you in line?” 

“Oh, no,” Nicole took a step to the side, “not at all.”

The woman smiled politely at Nicole, then glanced at Clarke. Her brow furrowed for a moment before she asked, “Aren’t you the korísti who bumped into me this morning?” The question pleasantly rolled of the woman’s tongue, every word beautifully articulated and every ‘r’ a soft purr. Needless to say, Clarke was flustered.

“Oh, uh,” Clarke turned and gripped the counter, her fingers digging into the marble nervously, “yeah. Sorry about that.”

The woman laughed softly, “It is okay. You seemed to be in a hurry. Late to work, I presume?” She gestured toward Clarke’s name tag, her eyes glittering slightly, with her right hand. Clarke took note of a darker scar across the back of the woman’s hand, which piqued her interest, but Clarke didn’t say anything about it. Instead she scratched behind her ear and offered an awkward grin.

“Yeah. Pretty much. But really, I’m sorry about earlier.” Clarke repeated as she offered a lopsided, anxious grin.

“No need to apologize.” The woman graced Clarke with a kind, reassuring smile as her eyes flickered over Clarke’s name tag. She read the name carefully, and as she did an unknown emotion crossed the strange woman’s features- perhaps a mix of surprise and curiosity. “You are Klark?” She spoke Clarke’s name in an odd way, articulating the ‘c’ and ‘k’ sound with a hard click of her tongue- almost as if her accent was overtaking her voice. 

“Yeah, my name is Clarke.” Clarke slightly corrected the older woman.

“Klark Anastas?” 

Clarke’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Anyways, can I… help you?”

“Help me?” For a moment, confusion clouded the woman’s eyes, then she offered a more awkward smile and nodded. “Oh! Yes. I am here to put in an order for a bouquet.”

“Uh-huh. What type of flowers do you want?” Clarke asked as she carefully watched the woman before her. The woman blinked in surprise, as though she’d forgotten what she was ordering, and she fumbled for a tiny note in her pocket- one that looked like it had see a lot of shit. There was something scribbled in Greek, but Clarke wasn’t able to read it quick enough.

“Orchids.” The woman told Clarke after glancing at her note. “I want orchids. Ah, red… pink… and purple.” She nodded curtly, a bit awkwardly, as Clarke’s eyes narrowed slightly- those flowers, the ones the woman had just requested, were Clarke’s favorites. Eitan had always brought them to Clarke after any of her activities, in lieu of Poseidon’s absence, and therefore they were special to the youngest Anastas.

“May I ask why?” Clarke asked, which caused the woman’s cheeks to tint red. 

“They are my partner’s favorite.” The woman replied simply after a moment. “I used to pick them for her, back home.” A forlorn expression crossed the woman’s perfect, toned features; but after a moment she seemed to snap out of it. “I was hoping to surprise her later.” 

“Oh, well,” Clarke offered a curt nod, “good luck. I hope that goes well for you.”

“ _Efcharistó_ ,” The woman murmured, a small smile playing on her lips, as she offered Clarke her credit card. For a moment Clarke was confused, but then she realized that the woman was trying to pay for her purchase. 

“Oh, uh, _parakaló_.” Clarke responded as she read the cost of the purchase to the woman and swiped the card. “Is there a note you’d like to leave in the bouquet, or…?”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” The woman nodded. “Do you want me to write it down for you?” Clarke turned and grabbed a little card and pen from the cubby below the counter and offered it to the woman. The woman’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she began to scribble down a note and offered it to Clarke as she readied the flowers. Clarke’s eyes glanced toward the note, written in Greek, as she quickly deciphered it. It read, 

_Όταν κολυμπάτε στη θάλασσα, μια λίμνη δεν θα κάνει πλέον. Όλοι οι άλλοι ήταν μια λίμνη, αλλά ο ωκεανός ήταν πάντα εσύ._  
_\- Αγάπη, Κασσάνδρα_

Which, in English, translated to,

_When you swim in the sea, a lake will no longer do. Everyone else was a lake, but the ocean was always you._  
_\- Love, Kassandra_

It was sweet, Clarke supposed, and though she wanted to ask the woman, Kassandra, about it- she didn’t. Instead Clarke offered a small smile and neatly taped the note to the plastic wrap around the flowers. 

“Now, these will need to be put into water later otherwise they may wilt and die.” Clarke said, very matter-of-factly. 

“I will keep that in mind.” Kassandra smiled, her eyes twinkling slightly. “Thank you for your help, Klark. Here,” Kassandra offered something silver to Clarke, a coin perhaps, which Clarke curiously accepted. Clarke held the object in her palm, examining it curiously, as the woman silently gathered her bouquet in her muscled arms and left- though, Clarke was certain she saw Kassandra glance back at her as she left.

“What’s that?” Nicole asked curiously as she took Kassandra’s place before Clarke again.

“It’s a drachma.” Clarke murmured as she shoved the coin into her pants pocket. “So, if I need to make an Iris Message, I guess I can use it… Or I guess not, it’s not even a gold drachma.” Clarke half-chuckled.

“She was hot.” Nicole shrugged, glancing at the door as it slowly swung shut. Clarke’s cheeks tinted pink as she shook her head. 

“I guess so. But that was… weird. The way she looked at me… ordered my favorite flowers.”

“It’s gotta be a coincidence.” Nicole shrugged and checked the time on her phone. “Look, I gotta run- Shaun’s expecting me. But I’ll see you for your birthday, right? With dad?” 

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll see you then.” Clarke nodded. “Tell Shaun I said hi, okay?”


	2. It Has Begun

“Gods,” Clarke muttered as she shut the shop’s door behind her, “what a long, fucking day.” Clarke ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, sighing. Aside from meeting Kassandra, Clarke’s day had been boring- only two other customers had come in, but Daisy had insisted on keeping the shop open all day… Clarke wasn’t necessarily sure why. Clarke shoved her hands in her pockets and pursed her lips, though she was startled by the clamboring of garbage can lids beside her. Clarke jumped slightly, but calmed when she saw the familiar sight of Bastard. The old tomcat meowed plaintively as he approached Clarke, his white pelt slightly caked in mud from the recent rains. Clarke reached down and patted the tomcat on the top of his head as she began to walk.

“What do you say, Bastard?” Clarke asked as they headed down the alleyway. “What do you feel for dinner tonight? A tub of ice cream, or two-day-old pizza?”

Bastard _mrrp_ ed in response, to which Clarke nodded at.

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed, “I felt like ice cream too. Maybe there’ll be some corny horror movie on TV. How does that sound?” Again, the cat meowed in response and brushed up against Clarke’s leg- which, naturally, almost resulted in the tomcat being punted across the alley. Fortunately, for as lithe as Bastard was, he avoided the wrath of Clarke’s foot. Clarke’s phone buzzed in her pocket, which at first Clarke ignored; however, when her phone rang again Clarke sighed and pulled it from her pocket.

 **_From:_ ** **_Dad_ ** **_-_ ** _Hey kiddo, i know this time of year is a little difficult for you… i know youre mad at poseidon and all, but please… nicki and i will always be there for you._

A slight pang of guilt ran through Clarke’s chest. Eitan was right; Clarke’s birthday was never easy for her, especially since Poseidon- her other father, but that was a more complicated story- didn’t seem to acknowledge Clarke as his own, nor did he ever contact her… and frankly, Clarke was a bit jealous of her half-brother Percy for that. Percy was Poseidon’s favorite, and Clarke… Clarke was just the product of one of Eitan’s orgies. Nicole was, too, but Nike was proud of Nicole.

Poseidon just ignored Clarke.

 **_From:_ ** **_Dad_ ** **_-_ ** _I love you, kiddo. Stay safe._

Clarke pursed her lips, shut off her phone, and shoved it in her pocket. Clarke loved her dad- she really did- but Clarke didn’t know what to say. Clarke wasn’t the best with her feelings, especially toward her family, even though she tried her best. The bushes beside Clarke began to rustle, which snapped Clarke’s attention away from her thoughts. Bastard began to growl at the noise, which unsettled Clarke, so she scooped the bristling cat into her arms and continued to walk. A street lamp flickered ominously ahead as Clarke walked beneath it, Bastard settled in her arms, and tried to ignore the concern and disquiet welling in her chest. Something ran through a row of bushes beside Clarke, which caused her chest to tighten with fear, but again she tried to ignore it.

“It’s nothing. Don’t be a baby.” Clarke muttered to herself tersely as she trudged onward. Bastard’s claws dug into Clarke’s bicep as she cradled him, his burning yellow eyes narrowed to slits as he surveyed the dark city streets. The cat began to growl as they approached Clarke’s apartment, the building’s streetlamps aglow with a strange amber light- one Clarke had never seen on the lanterns before. “Bastard, stop.” Clarke’s voice was hushed as she shifted Bastard’s weight to her left arm, her right hand digging for her keys in her pocket.

“You know,” A new voice cut in, a mix between a snarl and a sneer, “it’s a rarity to see one like _you_ alive.”

Every muscle and fiber in Clarke’s body locked, forcing her to stand so still she could’ve been mistaken for a statue. The color, the blood, all drained from Clarke’s face as the newcomer came to stand before Clarke; his eyes burning like angry embers. In his gnarled, claw-like hands he held a tattered orchid, perhaps torn from a bush nearby- or a bouquet-, which his nails mulled over until the petals were tattered ribbons. Lycaon offered Clarke a tempered, wolfish grin as he released the flower. It fluttered to the ground, shredded and mangled, and landed silently.

“It would seem you have an admirer.” Lycaon’s gravelly voice choked out, his fangs gleaming in the lamplight as his foot crushed the flower. “I found it on your doorstep.”

“Lycaon.” Was all Clarke could manage to say, her mouth seemingly dry from the encounter. Bastard had begun to snarl in Clarke’s arms, his hackles raised and tail lashing. The wolfman grinned again, lacing his fingers together maliciously.

“For a child of the Big Three, you don’t smell like it.” Lycaon’s grin twisted into a sneer. “Must be all the time bathing in the scent of other… lesser… demigods. You absolutely reek of _victory_. Been winning a lot of battles?” Lycaon taunted, mockery filling his voice. Of course, the wolfman was referring to Nike’s scent, which was somehow still masking Clarke’s trail… even if Clarke no longer lived at home, or around Nicole.

“I’ve done nothing to you,” Clarke’s voice was merely a whisper, “you shouldn’t be here. My father-”

“Which one? The mortal? Or the god?” Lycaon grinned. “The mortal may be upset… but the god? He won’t care, will he? Won’t even bat an eye.” Lycaon _tsk_ ed at Clarke, shaking his head. His tangled, matted hair fell around his shoulders and onto the furs he wore. “I’m not here because of anything you’ve done, dear lamb, I’m here because of the _importance_ you pose to my… well, let’s call them benefactors, shall we?”

Clarke was growing increasingly aware of Lycaon’s other pack members surrounding them. “I’m not important.” Clarke found the courage to scoff. “I’m a shut in, Poseidon’s _failure_.”

“Perhaps not.” Lycaon smirked, beginning to meander toward Clarke. “In truth, you aren’t my target. You’re the bait, little fish. You may not be important, but you’re important to my _prey._ ” With that, Lycaon lunged forward. Clarke wasn’t armed, she didn’t have a magic weapon like her half brother- but what Clarke did have was an angry, antsy cat. So, naturally, Clarke threw Bastard right into Lycaon’s face. The alley cat’s claws sank into Lycaon’s face, who howled in absolute agony. Apparently, a chunky tomcat clinging to one’s face wasn’t very comfortable.

With Lycaon distracted, at least for a little while, Clarke turned tail and ran. She wasn’t dressed for a fight, nor was she dressed for speed, and she could hear the wolves gaining on her as she sprinted alongside the city roads. Clarke rounded a corner, her heart hammering against her ribs, and felt the teeth of a wolf graze her ankle. Clarke’s eyes widened in fear, and she nearly tripped. Clarke’s left foot was ripped from her shoe, which one of the wolves tripped on- Clarke knew the wolf had fallen due to the loud yip and thud behind her. Even though part of Clarke wanted to laugh at the wolf’s blunder, she was too scared and too determined to even make a sound. She just kept sprinting, rocks and glass digging into her bare foot, off balance until she finally hobbled to rip off her other shoe and toss it behind her. The projectile shoe smacked another wolf on the head, but it didn’t do much damage. Suddenly, the concrete and cobblestone beneath Clarke’s feet turned to plywood and she realized she was no longer running on the sidewalk or road but rather the beach docks. Clarke leaped over one of the wooden railings that separated the elevated docks from the beach. Her feet hit the sand with a dull _thump_ and the impact sent a wave of pain shooting up Clarke’s ankles. Still, Clarke didn’t care- she needed to keep running, she needed to get to the water. Perhaps part of Clarke’s subconscious had naturally pulled her to the beach, but Clarke wasn’t sure and she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Clarke began to run again, her breath slightly regained, when a white-hot pain rammed directly into Clarke’s ribs. The girl stumbled, her breath wrought from her lungs, and fell into the cold sand. The tiny grains dug into her exposed skin as Clarke writhed on the ground, gasping for air, and tried to claw her way to the water; however, Clarke gave up halfway through, still heaving for air, and brought her hand to her side only to find some sort of dart sticking out between her ribs. She gripped the dart in her hand and pulled, crying out in pain as she did so. A blue liquid dripped from the tip of the dart as Clarke examined it, but her mind was growing hazy. She didn’t know what she’d been hit with, and she didn’t know what the hell was happening- she didn’t know what the hell Lycaon was talking about. Clarke tried to push herself to her feet, but her arms felt like jelly. She fell back against the sand, her breath growing ragged in her chest, and again tried to claw her way to the water.

The water would save Clarke, she knew it would.

The wolves were closing in again now, Lycaon sneering down at the weakened demigod’s crumpled and pathetic form as she wormed her way toward the lazy waves. His face was marred with scratches from the cat’s claws, but no matter- they would heal. Just as the demigod’s fingers reached out to touch the water, Lycaon slammed his foot against her calf. He almost felt bones crack beneath his foot, which made him grin gleefully, but they held strong due to that demigod durability. Clarke cried out, though her cries were growing weaker.

“Oh, little lamb.” Lycaon cooed, shaking his head. “Why do you run? Daddy can’t help you, he wouldn’t even try.” He felt Clarke’s body stilling beneath his as the drug took control, depleting Clarke’s powers for the moment- just a short moment- and rendering her incapacitated. The drug wouldn’t hold long, but just long enough for the _target_ to catch on- which Lycaon knew had worked as soon as he heard one of his brethren cry out in pain. Lycaon’s lips again turned upward into a sneer as he slowly turned, foot still planted on Clarke’s leg, and faced _her_.

Two amber-gold eyes glared back at Lycaon as the woman ripped her weapon from the body of Aetios, one of Lycaon’s oldest wolves. Aetios’s body stilled, then evaporated into a fine golden dust- though his blood remained upon the woman’s weapon which, at the moment, had taken on the form of a _kopis._ But this wasn’t an ordinary _kopis,_ this weapon was special… and those Lycaon currently served, for lack of a better term, desired this weapon.

“ _Geia sas, misthofóros_.” Lycaon sneered. “It’s about time you showed up.”

“She plays no part in this.” A familiar, sweet voice responded- though with her hazy mind Clarke wasn’t sure who it belonged to. “This spat is between myself and the Kosmos.”

“You know they don’t call themselves that anymore, right?” Lycaon scoffed. “Though it seems times certainly haven’t changed you. Hand over the weapon, and the girl will live.”

“Perhaps you should try to take it from me.” The newcomer challenged. “Or are you scared, you filthy dog?” Lycaon actually snarled at the newcomer’s remark. Another of his pack, Abderos, jerked toward the target- but again, the _kopis_ found its way into Abderos’s heart. He, too, evaporated to dust; leaving nothing but a pissed off Spartan, a wounded demigod, and a fuck ton of werewolves in his wake.

“Klark,” The Greek accent called to the fallen demigod, “ _Prépei na sikotheís. Tóra_.” Clarke’s mouth, which felt like it was full of bees, formed a pained ‘o’ as she again tried to push herself to her feet- but Lycaon held her down again.

“Klark, _prépei na polemíseis. Chrisimopoiíste ti drachmí_.”

Clarke’s befuddled, dazed mind slowly kickstarted to make sense of the voice’s order. The drachma? What drachma? The one in her pocket? Slowly, in sudden remembrance, Clarke’s hand inched toward her pocket once more. The fabric brushed against her sandy, irritated hands as her fingers closed around the silver coin and pulled.

Lycaon only sneered, “Oh boo hoo, a little coin. I’m absolutely _terrified._ ”

“ _Anastrépste ti drachmí, agápi, parakaló. Empistépsou me._ ” The voice pushed Clarke again, though now Clarke’s hazy mind was beginning to recognize the voice.

“Kassandra?” Clarke muttered in confusion as the woman from the flower shop impaled another wolf.

“Yes, Klark.” Kassandra’s voice softened. “Please. Flip the coin.” Another wolf cried out as Kassandra’s _kopis_ bit into its chest. Clarke licked her lips uneasily, but she did as told. She placed the coin between her thumb and index finger and flipped the drachma. The coin sailed into the air- but it fell short and collided with the sand.

“ _Gamó!_ ” Kassandra hissed, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Klark, flip the coin again! Try to catch it, please!” Lycaon, for once, stayed silent- he was just as confused as Clarke was. Clarke fumbled for the coin again, brushing aside all the sand from its surface as she palmed it and got ready to flip the coin again. The coin flew into the air with a metallic _clink_ , though this time when the coin flew toward Clarke’s palm it began to glow. The coin began to build upon itself, its body lengthening and stacking until it was a good seven foot long pole with three sharp, deadly prongs decorating the end touching the water. An almost electrifying, crackling energy ran up the length of Clarke’s arm as the trident staff connected with her open hand. Clarke’s brilliant eyes shot open, as if she’d been awoken, as she used her free leg to kick out Lycaon’s knee. The wolfman yelped in surprise and stumbled a foot away, which caused a wide grin to spread upon Kassandra’s face- even if the gesture only lasted for a moment, because a moment later the wolves were beginning to descend upon the demigod and the Spartan.

Clarke swung the trident with all the strength she could muster. The brunt of the trident prongs smacked into Lycaon’s legs again and pulled them from beneath the wolfman. Lycaon hit the ground with a thud as his breath left his own lungs. Clarke scrambled to her feet, using the trident as a crutch, and kicked the wolfman in the ribs.

“What the hell, dude?!” Clarke cried out. “I hardly know this woman! I literally met her today! There’s no way I’m this fucking important to her!” The wolf grunted as Clarke drove the butt of the trident staff into his spine- just as he watched Kassandra slay five... ten... fifteen of his best wolves. Clarke was so confused- and a little scared, admittedly- that she didn’t notice the sea water behind her. The waves were beginning to snap at the shore angrily, nearly reflecting Clarke’s personal feelings, and it made Kassandra’s eyes widen.

“Klark!” Kassandra cried out as she drew her blade from the back of another wolf. “Klark, get away from the water! Apodráste apó to neró!”

“What are you talking about?! It’s fine! The water won’t hurt me!” Clarke snapped.

“Klark!” Kassandra’s eyes hardened. “You need to move away. Now!” Clarke glared at the woman as she drove the prongs of her trident into Lycaon’s back. The wolf howled, though he too burst into golden dust- though, as all immortals did, he’d reform eventually in the depths of Tartarus. Clarke, despite Kassandra’s obvious warning, took a step backward- a step toward the water, and a step away from the strange woman before her.

“Or what?” Clarke asked. “I don’t know you! I don’t trust you!” She didn’t know what Kassandra wanted from her, nor did Clarke understand why Kassandra was even rescuing her… or why Lycaon was messing with one of Kassandra’s flowers- not to mention, Clarke was still technically _drugged._ The _kopis_ vanished from Kassandra’s hand as her expression turned to one of sorrow- or perhaps pain.

“You don’t remember?” The woman’s accented voice asked, the hurt obvious in her voice. “But you have to! This is the right time. Please, Klark! Tell me you remember.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Clarke snapped, taking another step back. The water was at her ankles now, the waves ripping at her skin viciously. Kassandra went to open her mouth, but her eyes and jaw went taut with concern and fear as a ripple of water locked itself around Clarke’s legs as if it were a hand wrapping itself around Clarke. Then, the water began to pull.

Clarke felt the soft, wet sand give way beneath her feet as the water began to pull her out and under. Kassandra darted toward Clarke, her hand grabbing onto Clarke’s arm as she attempted to pull the demigod from the waters. A wave erupted between the two, breaking Kassandra’s hold on Clarke’s arm as the daughter of Poseidon tried to will the water to stop, to let her go- but it wasn’t working. The water wouldn’t listen to Clarke for once in her life as it yanked her away from Kassandra and the shore one burst at a time before Clarke was yanked into the black, cold abyss of the ocean. Clarke spluttered against the cold waves that ripped at her shirt and skin as she struggled to stay above water. She gasped for breath as water rushed into her mouth and her arms and legs flailed to keep her upright. Suddenly, Clarke was pulled under the water by some unseen force. Water began to fill Clarke’s lungs as she screamed for air, for help, but no sound left her lips. Clarke clawed at the water viciously as if she expected to wound it, but whatever had grabbed hold of Clarke wouldn’t give.

Clarke was drowning for the first time in her life, and she was terrified. She couldn’t breath, why the hell couldn’t she breathe?! She’d always been able to breathe beneath water, but something was different- something was hindering her ability to do so, even though she wasn’t sure what. But this became the least of Clarke’s concerns when she suddenly struck the side of something large and solid. A fin scraped against Clarke’s side, and all at once she knew what she’d hit. The shark’s nose drove itself right into Clarke’s gut as the sea creature began forcing Clarke back to the surface.

Clarke fumbled to grasp at the shark’s consciousness and was relieved that her ability to commune with sea creatures hadn’t been affected. The shark, a young female, had no intention of hurting Clarke; no, the shark was helping her- or at least trying to. The shark slammed Clarke back into something else- something far sturdier. Splinters and barnacles sank into Clarke’s skin, drawing blood, as she clawed her way to the surface. Clarke spluttered for air, her hands flailing upward as she tried to regain her senses- but there was still water in her lungs, and she was beginning to feel woozy again.

“ _Dioikitís! Káti échei chtypísei to ploío!_ ” A male voice called out in Greek, which Clarke didn’t understand at first until he spoke again. “Quick! Port side!” Clarke’s brain deciphered the Greek words for her, though she found herself losing consciousness quickly. Her vision was beginning to swim, no pun intended, with flecks of black as she began to sink again.

“Barnabas! Stop the rowers!” Someone commanded as Clarke once again began to sink. As the demigod’s eyes began to drift shut, Clarke was vaguely aware of a humanlike shape diving toward her and into the water. In her last fleeting moments of consciousness, Clarke was aware of a capable arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her upward- but everything after that turned to darkness, and Clarke blacked out.


	3. Wave Rider

When Clarke came to, the pain in her lungs and head was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Sure Clarke had been stabbed, shot with arrows, and thrown by mythical monsters; but the pain of nearly drowning and being thrown into a shark  _ and _ a ship. Clarke lay still for a moment against the cool, slightly damp floor beneath her. Due to the prickly splinters digging into her forearms Clarke figured she was laying on some sort of wooden floor, but she hadn’t yet opened her eyes to see. Clarke could also smell- or, for lack of a better term, sense- the salty tang of seawater in the air. It certainly didn’t smell like home- that smelled like eucalyptus, due to Clarke’s obsession with the eucalyptus oil-, so Clarke figured she also wasn’t home. Clarke’s third observation was the way the room seemed to sway, almost like the waterbed Eitan had gotten Clarke years ago. 

Suddenly, Clarke began to feel queasy. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and she snapped her eyes open to see two narrowed, yet curious, amber-gold eyes staring down at Clarke. Clarke cried out, surprised, and sent her fist crashing into the nose of the person in front of her.

“ _ Maláka! _ ” The observer cried out in Greek. They stumbled back, clutching their nose, and Clarke found those burning eyes glaring at her now. Clarke’s eyes narrowed and her breath hitched as she glared back, her heart beginning to race.

“Kassandra? What the-” Clarke went to speak, but suddenly Kassandra was upon her. The woman had grabbed Clarke by the collar- and now Clarke was made aware she was no longer wearing her clothes but a filthy and torn  _ exomis _ , or a one-shouldered men’s cloak.

“How do you know my name?” The woman snapped in Greek again- Clarke's brain was translating the familiar language for her-, her eyes alight with pain and… mistrust? Clarke wasn’t sure what that other emotion was. Clarke blinked in surprise, her hand snagging Kassandra’s wrist in return. Kassandra’s grip tightened around Clarke’s collar, and Clarke tightened her grip on Kassandra’s wrist. 

“I…” Clarke licked her lips uneasily, her eyes darting back and forth between Kassandra’s features, “I heard someone say it. I apologize. I… didn’t mean to punch you, either.” Clarke responded in Greek as well, coming to realize there would be no English-speaking on this trip. Slowly, Clarke pried her fingers away from Kassandra’s wrist. Kassandra, however, kept her grip on Clarke’s collar for a few more seconds before she slowly released the shorter girl and stepped back. Kassandra swiped her wrist below her nose, clearing away the crimson that dribbled from her nostrils, and shook her head.

“No, I should apologize. I should not have hovered.” The woman muttered as she then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Though, you do owe me for fishing you from the sea. Did Poseidon sink your ship?” Clarke held back a sneer at that remark, and shook her head.

“No, my ship didn’t sink. I…” Clarke paused, frowning. What had she been doing before Kassandra had rescued her? Clarke remembered going to work, she remembered her sister… Of course, she remembered Kassandra’s awkward flower order… and she remembered running, and getting attacked… but by who? By what? Why the hell couldn’t Clarke remember? “I… I can’t… I don’t know.” Clarke frowned and looked at Kassandra- the suit, which Clarke  _ had _ to admit was very attractive- was gone, replaced with… battle armor? What the hell was going on? Clarke uneasily rolled into a sitting position. “Have you always been wearing that?” She gestured to Kassandra’s armor, who quirked an eyebrow in response.

“Of course I have. It would be incredibly foolish of me to leave myself vulnerable, especially on Kephallonia.” Kassandra sneered, shaking her head as if the mere idea of being without armor was the dumbest thing Clarke could’ve asked.

“Kephallonia?” Clarke scratched the back of her head curiously, her mind- and thinking- still a little fuzzy. “I… didn’t think that was a part of New York.. Is it by Long Island?” 

Again, Kassandra sneered. “New York? Is that some sort of… far off land? Is it beyond Thera?” Clarke squinted at Kassandra, confused.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Clarke asked as she folded her legs and rested her arms on her knees. “I’m literally from New York. You visited my flower shop? Or… not mine, I guess, but I work there so it counts.”

“Did you take a blow to the head?” Kassandra laughed. “I’ve never met you before, all I did was fish you out of the Korinthian gulf.”

“Korinthian gulf?” Clarke quirked an eyebrow, but her stomach was beginning to sink. Clarke knew where Korinth was… she remembered Chiron’s teachings and everything she’d learned at camp about the  _ homeland _ . “As in… like... in Grecian territory?” 

“Where else?” Kassandra asked shortly. “Of course in Grecian territory. But nevermind that, I have some questions for you.”

“Like what?” Clarke muttered, having began to examine the  _ exomis _ she was dressed in. “Where did this come from?” 

“Your… weird clothes were wet.” Kassandra shrugged. “I changed you into that.” Clarke’s eyes snapped up to Kassandra, her expression a mix between rage and embarrassment.

“Don’t worry.” Kassandra rolled her eyes. “I didn’t look at you. Now, who are you, hm?”

“My name is Clarke.” Clarke responded. “Clarke Anastas.”

“Well, Klark-”

“Clarke.”

“Yes, Klark.” Kassandra blinked, unphased. “I’d introduce myself, but you already seem to know who I am.”

“Of course I do!” Clarke threw her hands into the air, exasperated. “We’ve already met!” Again, Kassandra moved to pinch the bridge of her nose- and Clarke wasn’t exactly sure  _ what _ she was missing about this conversation until a man- much older than both Kassandra and Clarke- opened the hatch to the deck and slid down the ladder. 

“Commander!” The man’s features were contorted into concern. “I heard yelling below deck! Is everything alright?” Kassandra pursed her lips and got to her feet, folding her arms as she did so. She gave Clarke an odd look- as if there was something off about Clarke- and shook her head dismissively. 

“Yes.” Kassandra replied. “Everything is fine here. Barnabas, this is our little… ward. Klark.” Slowly, almost hesitantly, Kassandra extended a hand to Clarke to help the shorter girl up. Clarke eyed the hand for a good second and a half before she, too, extended her hands. Her slightly calloused fingertips reached up to brush against Kassandra’s- and Clarke noted that Kassandra’s hands were even rougher than Clarke’s. Kassandra’s fingers closed around Clarke’s with surprising gentleness as she heaved Clarke to her feet. Clarke’s legs buckled slightly as the ship lurched, but Clarke was also surprised when Kassandra set a hand upon Clarke’s shoulder to steady her.

“We are headed to Megaris.” Barnabas informed Clarke with a friendly, fatherly smile and a short nod, but then his smile faltered. “But… there is a slight problem.”

“A problem?” Kassandra’s eyes narrowed like a hawk’s. “What kind of problem?” Barnabas winced, though not toward Kassandra’s words, and motioned for Kassandra to follow. Kassandra’s arms found themselves folded against her breastplate again as she began to follow Barnabas. Clarke stood in place for a moment before Kassandra’s gaze turned on the shorter girl once more. Kassandra motioned for Clarke to follow, and though Clarke was rather hesitant to do so she began to follow the Greek woman and her companion above deck. The afternoon- or at least Clarke thought it was afternoon- sun nearly blinded the demigod, but she raised a freckled hand to shield her eyes from the harshness of the sun’s rays. 

“Hoist the sail!” Barnabas called out as soon as the trio had crawled out from below the deck.

“My…” Kassandra muttered, shaking her head. “That is a problem.” Clarke frowned and looked about, still getting used to the sun’s rays, but all she saw was twenty or so men seated upon padded benches as they rhythmically rowed through the waters. Each time they rolled the oars, the wooden paddles slapped against the salty waters of the Korinthian gulf. At first Clarke wasn’t sure what the problem was, but after a moment she saw three battleships. The tall, broad sails were painted blue with white owls on them- Athena’s symbol. Were these Athenians? Clarke licked her lips uneasily as Kassandra strode across the ship floor, arms still folded, and marched right to the hull of the ship to examine the Athenian galley. From what Clarke could see, each ship was crawling with archers and polemasters and hoplites… standard soldiers, she supposed. 

“Maybe you should turn back?” Clarke asked, folding her arms against her chest, and even Kassandra seemed a little put-off. 

“I have to face him…” Kassandra muttered to herself, or at least that’s what Clarke thought she’d heard. But really, the only way to get to the Megarian shore was to fight through the Athenian ships, and both Clarke and Kassandra knew that wasn’t a smart idea. Kassandra’s face soured as she turned, ready to give an order to turn around, when Barnabas ordered the men to… turn? Clarke’s eyes widened, the fools were going to ram right into the nearest ship! The ship veered strongly to the right, but this time Clarke was ready. Her sea legs were ready- she was, after all, Poseidon’s daughter-, but Kassandra’s wasn’t. The taller woman was torn to the side, but Clarke grabbed hold of Kassandra’s arm to steady her. Kassandra’s eyes widened with surprise, or perhaps embarrassment due to her cheeks tinting pink, as Clarke slowly steadied the taller woman.

“Thank you.” Kassandra spoke with a certain dryness to her voice- not in a sarcastic manner, but an odd and unfamiliar way. The two stared at each other for a moment, Kassandra’s gold-brown eyes focused on Clarke’s stormy gray ones, as Clarke slowly let go of the woman’s solid bicep.

“Brace!” Barnabas called out, effectively shocking Clarke and Kassandra from their ‘moment’. Kassandra’s eyes widened, and Clarke thought she saw the Athenian soldiers’ faces dropping. Kassandra’s ship struck the Athenian ship with such force Clarke felt like her bones were being ripped from her skin. Clarke and Kassandra were thrown together and to the floor of the ship, Kassandra’s back striking the ship’s floor as Clarke landed on top of the woman. Clarke took a moment to blink away her surprise before she actually realized where she’d landed. Kassandra’s face, now even redder than before, stared up at Clarke as the blonde quickly tore her hands away from Kassandra’s capable shoulders and shot up from where she was straddling the woman. Kassandra quickly scrambled to her feet, her gaze tearing away from Clarke’s as the ship cleaved the Athenian’s right in two. The second closest ship began to move toward Kassandra’s once they realized their buddies had been downed, as had the third. This wasn’t going to be a fair battle, Clarke knew, because there were way fewer men on Kassandra’s ship than on those Athenian fleets, but then again- they didn’t have a demigod, did they?

If Clarke  _ disrupted _ the closest ship, there was the possibility of also harming Kassandra’s; however, the third ship was far enough away… A plan began to formulate in Clarke’s mind, and though she knew it was a little risky Clarke figured it was worth it. Clarke reached deep within herself, gritting her teeth as she did so, as her hands curved into a claw-like figure. As she did so, the sea water beneath the ships began to churn violently. Kassandra subconsciously grabbed onto Clarke’s arm as the ship tried to balance itself out on the choppy waters, her eyes widening with uncertainty as Clarke slowly raised her arm- and with it, the waters beneath the third Athenian ship began to rise. The hull of the ship was lifted into the air as Clarke raised her arm, the water doing the daughter of Poseidon’s bidding, and with one final push the ship was thrown onto its side. Clarke stumbled back a bit, but was steadied by Kassandra’s grip. Clarke’s free hand, the one she’d used to throw the ship, flew to her nose to stop the tiny droplets of blood that had begun to run down Clarke’s lip and chin.

“What was that?” Kassandra asked, her eyes narrowing as her grip tightened slightly. 

Clarke smiled dryly, “Looks like Poseidon sank their ship.” The blonde responded as Kassandra released Clarke with a small, tight-lipped frown. “But no matter, you have other problems.” Clarke jerked her thumb toward the remaining Athenian ship which was preparing to board Kassandra’s boat.

“Defend the  _ Adrestia _ !” Barnabas called out as the rowers jumped from their benches and hurried for whatever weapons the ship was carrying. One of the rowers tossed Clarke a hefty double-bladed axe. Clarke’s eyes widened as the surprising bulk of the weapon weighed her down, but after a good second Clarke lifted the axe into a fighting position as Kassandra plucked her weapon- an odd half-spear- from her back. The blade of Kassandra’s weapon glinted in the sunlight, unlike the rusted and bloodied blade of Clarke’s ‘new’ axe. 

“Can you handle yourself in a fight?” Kassandra quirked an eyebrow as she watched Clarke struggle with the axe, though the question did offend the halfblood.

“I can fight!” Clarke snapped. “I’ve just never used one of these before!” 

“That’s reassuring.” Kassandra rolled her eyes, though they widened when the warrior saw Clarke swinging the axe in her direction. “Hey-!” Kassandra protested, but the axe never struck Kassandra- instead, it struck the side of an Athenian soldier. The man dropped, blood gurgling in his mouth, but Clarke didn’t reclaim her weapon. Instead, Clarke snatched the man’s sword from the ground and gave it a showoff-y twirl. 

“Look! Now you owe me,” Clarke sneered at Kassandra, who opened her mouth in an offended ‘o’ as the shorter girl charged into the fray of Athenian men beginning to storm the ship. Clarke parried the blow of an Athenian soldier’s  _ xiphos _ , sparks bouncing off the blades of the weapons as they collided. The man stumbled backward, and as he did Clarke took the opportunity to kick the man square in his gut. He flew into one of his companions- which caused both the men to fly over the  _ Adrestia _ ’s railing- and overboard. A small laugh left Clarke’s lips, but she barely had time to react as another Athenian warrior thrust the tip of his spear right toward Clarke’s ribs. The demigod’s breath hitched, the metal blade mere inches from ripping into her skin, but the weapon was knocked short by Kassandra’s half-spear. 

“Now we’re even!” Kassandra called, a sloppy half-grin adorning her features as Clarke drove her sword into the Athenian’s head. “Although, you still owe me for pulling you from the sea!” 

“Then we’re not really even, are we?” Clarke sneered, pulling Kassandra from an arrow’s path. Kassandra’s eyes widened by a millimeter, but Clarke only smiled. “Oh wait, now we are.” Kassandra seemed to grumble, though the moment was short lived when Clarke parried the blow from another soldier and dove back into battle. Memories from the battle the demigods faced with Kronos and his army began to bubble up from Clarke’s subconscious despite the girl’s attempts to force them back down. Metal clashed against metal, blood sprayed into the air, and bodies began to litter the floor. In the end, there was Clarke and Kassandra- backs pressed together, chests heaving for air- among the carnage, along with Barnabas and about half his crew. But still, they were victorious- even with losses-, and now nothing was stopping them from the shore. 

Clarke licked her lips uneasily as she dropped the sword. It collided with the ship floor with a sharp metallic noise as Kassandra slowly sheathed her half-spear once again. The remainder of Barnabas’s crew was beginning to throw the fallen Athenian soldiers overboard, along with the fallen crew members of the  _ Adrestia _ , as Kassandra turned to Clarke once more.

“You fought well.” The woman complimented with a small nod. 

“I told you I could.” Clarke’s voice was hoarse as she responded, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

“Perhaps you’d accompany me to shore once we’ve docked?” Kassandra asked, jerking her thumb toward the approaching beach.

Clarke offered a short, bark-like laugh, “Me? Why?”

“I’m not used to working with others.” Kassandra replied simply as a few of the other crew members returned with some looted supplies and drachma from the defeated Athenian ship. They offered Kassandra a portion of the coin, who studied it curiously before she slowly- almost begrudgingly- offered it to Clarke. “But you fought well and… this,” She gestured to Megaris, “is much bigger than me. I could use another sword.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Clarke said dryly as she slowly accepted the drachma from Kassandra, “but I’m not exactly  _ prepared _ to traipse around the Megarian countryside with you. I have no armor, no weapon that I’m used to wielding, and I don’t know you.” Clarke’s reply was simple enough, and Kassandra moved to scratch the back of her head. The braid slung over her shoulder was slightly bloodied, as was the rest of the woman, but she didn’t seem like she’d expected Clarke to turn her down.

“We can find you armor.” Kassandra offered with a shrug, gesturing to the loot the crew had pulled from the ship. “And we can find you a weapon. But I am asking you… as a…  _ friend _ …” Kassandra uttered the word cautiously, “for your help.”

“We’re not friends.” Clarke responded matter-of-factly, but what other choice did she have? Clarke wasn’t exactly sure where- or  _ when _ \- she was, because this sure as hell wasn’t New York, but maybe if she followed Kassandra’s lead Clarke could figure it all out. “But… I guess if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

“I don’t want to scratch your back.” The woman frowned.

“It’s… just a saying, nevermind. But I’m in.”


End file.
